


Something More

by AlyKat



Series: Chicken Soup for the Starfleet Officer's Soul [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Desert Crossing, Fallen Hero, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malcolm's too stubborn, and, takes place between
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:43:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: Malcolm suffers through a severe migraine, Trip is there to kiss it all away.





	Something More

**Author's Note:**

> I had a serious migraine the other morning and had wanted to request that someone write me a fic in which Malcolm suffers from migraines, too, and Trip was there to take care of him. Then I realized, that it probably wouldn't get written, so I wrote it for myself. Because I really needed someone to help me and I had no one. So, yeah, I wrote this instead. Apologies as this is unbeta'd. 
> 
> Also, if you've never had a migraine, consider yourself lucky. They are a fate worse than death and I wouldn't wish them on anyone. They aren't the same for everyone, but I have given Malcolm most of the symptoms I get when a migraine assaults me. I know most people say they see spots or auras or light lines in their vision when they have a migraine, I do not. It's just severe, debilitating pain that can last anywhere from an hour or two, to upwards of 12 to 15 hours. I can't work, I can't move, I can't eat or take meds because I won't be able to keep them down. It's not fun. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The boys belong to Paramount. Even though Paramount doesn't always like to claim them. Wish they were mine. I take better care of them...sometimes...

It had started innocently enough, just a slight twinge between his shoulders, the stress of the past few days building atop old stresses. Malcolm ignored it, certain that by lunch it would have all worked itself out and he’d be fine again. Of course, he should have known it wouldn’t be like that. Ignoring his headaches had never worked out well in the end for him, but, well, he simply didn’t have the time to go to Phlox for something as tiny as a small twingey headache. Besides, they’d be to Risa soon. He and Trip would go and get wonderful massages and his aching muscles would melt away. Just needed to make it until then. 

Two hours into his shift the twinge had settled into a dull ache up the back of Malcolm’s neck. No amount of rolling his shoulders or rubbing his neck could knead the tension away. He’d been on his way to Phlox for a shot of muscle relaxer when Ensign Tanner called him to the armory. There was a charge imbalance in two of the phase cannons, and Malcolm had promised to test several of the crew on the newly improved pistols. 

His hypospray of pain killers -- as well as his lunch -- would have to wait. 

Trip had appeared at some point to pull him away to eat, but Malcolm had been buried deep within the aft cannon housing, trying desperately to seek out the short his diagnostics had claimed was there. Tanner assured Trip that he’d make sure Malcolm got something to eat soon.

Four bruised knuckles and two singed fingers later, he finally wiggled himself out of the cannon and back onto the armory floor. The pain that had been a dull annoyance in his head had grown to a full throbbing distraction. Just standing had become a test of shere willpower, and the subtle scent of burnt ozone from the phase pistols  sent his stomach roiling. The lights were becoming increasingly brighter and every small sound a hundred times louder. 

“Sir, I have the scores of the -- sir?” Ensign Tanner froze where he stood in front of his lieutenant, concern etched on his young face. “Are you alright, sir?”

Malcolm forced a slow, deep breath, before he dared to open his eyes (when had he even shut them?). “What? Oh, uh, yes. Fine. I’m fine. You have what, now?”

The fact that he very much was not fine must have shown on Malcolm’s face, if the way Tanner hesitated was anything to go by. “I have the scores of last batch of crew to test on the phase pistols. Crewman Hoffman will need to retake it before she can be cleared.” 

The words swam on the screen of the PADD in front of him. Even the glow of the screen was much too bright. When someone dropped something across the room, Malcolm’s eyes shut again, his empty hand darting out to brace against the wall as he groaned inwardly. Or, maybe it’d been outloud, after all, what with the way Tanner’s hand was suddenly on his elbow. Oh, Malcolm needed to get to his quarters, and quickly, before he embarrassed himself in front of his crew any more than he already had. 

“That’ll be...fine,” he murmured, barely opening his eyes as he shook his head in the smallest of movements and handed the PADD back to the ensign. “I...excuse me. I think…” Malcolm couldn’t finish his thought, mainly because each word sent a stabbing pain through his skull, but also because he could feel what was left of his breakfast trying to make a grand reappearance. 

Without another word, he hurried from the armory and down the corridor to the nearest turbolift. Everything was too much; too bright, too loud, too overpowering. He knew he needed to excuse himself from duty for the rest of the day, but just the thought of speaking had him quietly whimpering in pain again. Even just going to sickbay was out of the question by this point. Malcolm needed darkness and silence. Two things the sickbay most certainly weren’t. 

The ride to B deck was blessedly short, and Malcolm had nearly made it to his quarters when he heard his name called behind him. Normally that smooth Southern drawl calling his name sent his heart jumping beats and butterflies fluttering in his stomach, this time it had his stomach lurching and caused the throbbing in his temples to increase ten-fold. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t acknowledge Trip. If he did, he’d lose his battle and what a fine mess that’d be. Malcolm would have to resign or request a transfer to another ship just from embarrassment alone! 

Lips pressed together tightly, he pushed himself all the faster to his room, barely pausing to punch in his access code before rushing in and going straight to the head. Not a moment too soon. Getting a cold on a hermetically sealed starship was bad enough, but becoming physically ill because of a headache-turned-severe migraine had to be a hundred times worse. Being sick in front of not only a superior officer, but also his still relatively new lover was worst of all. 

“Malcolm?” Trip called from the main part of the room, turning the lights on as he went along. When the blinding light of the bathroom ripped across Malcolm’s eyes, he barely had time to groan before he was heaving once again.

Trip was by his side in an instant. 

“Shit! Malcolm! You okay? What’s wrong? Are y’sick?” 

Waving him off, Malcolm waited until he was sure he’d emptied his stomach as much as he could before sitting back and pressing a hand over his eyes, attempting to block out the light as much as possible. “No...please...just...please.” His feeble hand motions attempted to get his unspoken  _ be quieter _ across for him. 

He heard the water run for a moment before a cool glass was pressed to his lips. “Here, take a sip for me. Gotta get somethin’ back in that empty tank of yours.” 

Malcolm wrapped one hand around the glass, glad that Trip still had a firm hold on it, and sipped from it slowly twice before sitting back again. Trip, thankfully, sat quietly with him for a moment, and when he did start to speak again, his voice was pitched low and gentle. 

“What’s wrong, darlin’? I didn’t see y’ for lunch, then Tanner said you’d taken off like a bolt.” Work roughened fingers brushed across Malcolm’s brow, sweeping his damp hair from out of his eyes. Malcolm felt cold and hot all at once, and knew he had to be pale. His arms and legs trembled, not fiercely, but still enough to be just noticeable and he could feel the cold sweat plastering his undershirt and jumpsuit collar to his body. 

“Migraine,” he finally managed to mumble out. “Bloody migraine.”

“Aw, Mal…” murmured Trip. “Whaddaya need? Got medicine or anything for it?”

Slowly motioning towards his washkit, Malcolm pulled his knees up to his chest and lowered his head until his forehead touched knees. “Might have a hypo in there, ‘m not sure. Please turn the lights off?”

A soft kiss pressed to his head for a moment as Trip moved to stand again. “Lemme check for a hypo first, hang on.” 

At least some of his sensitivity to sound had started to subside. Either that, or Trip really could be quiet when looking for something after all. Another moment later, a hand was on his back, rubbing gentle circles up and down his spine. 

“No hypo. Want me t’ call Phlox an’ have him bring one?”

Malcolm shook his head. “Please just...turn the lights back off and help me to my bed?”

It was slow going, moving from sitting on the cool bathroom floor to standing next to his bed, but he made it. Trip helping him every step of the way. He kept his eyes shut until the brightness dimmed and then went out all together. Once he was sure his room was totally dark, he opened his eyes and sighed softly. Trip kept hold of him while their eyes adjusted to the darkness, before slowly and carefully beginning to strip Malcolm from his sweat dampened uniform. 

“C’mon, darlin’. Let’s get you settled into bed, okay? I’ve got you. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” 

The gentleness in which Trip moved to undress him had Malcolm thinking back just a few weeks prior, to an away mission to a rogue, Earth like planet. They’d gone down and made camp after running across some Eska hunters while exploring the darkened planet. Though Malcolm was certain no one really knew about his and Trip’s blossoming relationship, he still hesitantly offered to share his tent with Trip, and missed the amused smile their captain had given when Trip had eagerly followed after Malcolm when it was time to turn in. 

Trip kissed Malcolm for the very first time beneath those foreign stars. It had been awkward in the dark, unable to see where exactly the other was, and in fact, Trip had missed the first time. He caught just the corner of Malcolm’s mouth and pulled back with a quiet huff of a laugh. They both stood frozen in time, waiting for the other to move before Malcolm simply threw caution to the wind and pulled Trip down to him, pressing their lips together properly. It had started off as a slow, gentle kiss, but deepened quickly into something searching, claiming. Their bodies pressed together, Trip doing his best to work their jackets off while Malcolm’s fingers curled into his hair. By the time they finally pulled back for air, they were leaning heavily against each other, forehead pressed to forehead as they shared what little breath they could. Trip, it seemed, was incapable of keeping his lips to himself and would dive back in for softer brushes of a kiss while they caught their breath. 

He stripped Malcolm down to his Starfleet blues so tenderly that night, like he was almost afraid of breaking him. They shared a sleeping bag -- Trip insisting Malcolm search it and shake it out thoroughly first after all Malcolm and Hoshi’s teasing about bugs -- and held each other close, mapping each other’s bodies with their hands while sharing in alternating lazy and demanding kisses. 

Now Trip used that same care to extract him from his uniform once more and help him onto his bunk. Malcolm gave a pathetic whimper as his head and stomach both protested the movement and Trip ran his fingers soothingly through Malcolm’s hair. 

“Shhh, I’ve got ya, darlin’. You j’st lay still now. I’ll be back in j’st a couple minutes, okay? Gonna let the cap’n know you’re not gonna be back on duty the rest of the night, an’ grab a few things. J’st you rest. Understand?”

For once, Malcolm wasn’t about to protest. The less he moved at the moment, the better off he was. Still, he couldn’t help but quirk one corner of his mouth and tease, “Is that an order?”

“Yes. An’ y’better follow it, lieutenant.” 

“Thought we agreed no rank while off duty?”

“Technically,” Trip answered, carefully folding up Malcolm’s uniform and laying it across the end of the bunk, “until I let the cap’n know you’re down for the count, we’re both still on duty. Sides, you’re the one who asked if it was an order or not.”

Malcolm gave a small hum of acknowledgement, but said nothing more. His breath caught in his chest though when he felt Trip’s warm lips brush over both of his closed eyes, a typically playful peck to the tip of his nose, and then Trip kissed him full on in a way that made Malcolm a way he’d never truly felt before. Even knowing that Malcolm had just thrown up a short while ago, with only a couple small sips of water to wash the taste away, Trip pressed a loving -- there was no other way to describe it, as terrifying as that was -- kiss to his lips before scooting out the door. 

Light flooded his room for a moment until the door whooshing closed behind Trip plunged it back into utter darkness. He drifted in and out of sleep for a time, even the silence becoming an oppressive weight on his senses and sending his head spinning again any time he tried not to focus on it. Migraines had become few and far between for Malcolm, but when they did hit, they hit hard and tended to linger for a truly unacceptable amount of time.

Trip returned, Malcolm didn’t know how long after he’d left, and slipped into the room as quickly and quietly as he could. When he settled himself on the floor next to Malcolm’s bunk, the soft clinking of metal against ceramic sounded in the silence, louder than it should have been, and the scent of ginger and lemon filled the air. 

“Lift your head, Mal darlin’,” Trip murmured, pressing a kiss to Malcolm’s temple. Malcolm obeyed without question, half expecting to find a mug of whatever drink Trip had brought him pressed to his lips. Instead, he gave a sharp gasp of surprise when he felt frigid cold pressed to the base of his skull and another to his forehead. “Shhh, it’ll help, I promise. Gonna freeze it out. Trick my mom uses when she gets migraines.”

As cold as it was, Malcolm had to admit that it did already seem to be helping; a little, at least. Trip’s fingers were back to carding through his hair, slow, gentle movements that were helping to ease some of his discomfort. 

“Lemme know when those start gettin’ warm and I’ll scoot back down to sickbay for a couple more. Oh, an’ Phlox sent a hypo with me.” The fingers left Malcolm’s hair and fabric rustled as Trip dug into his pocket for the hypospray filled with extra strength painkillers. A kiss was pressed to his neck, then replaced with a quick, sharp prick of the needle injecting into him. It would take a little while for them to kick in, of course, but Malcolm still sighed in relief. More so when Trip was back to stroking his hair with one hand and gently rubbing from sternum to lower abdomen and back again with the other.  

“Know you don’t want it right this second, but, I got you some ginger tea with honey an’ lemon, too. Figure it might help settle your stomach a bit so you can eat somethin’ soon.”

A quiet sigh escaped Malcolm. How he’d managed to be so lucky to have Trip in his life, he didn’t know, but he was so, so very thankful. He wasn’t entirely sure he deserved Trip, at the moment though, with Trip taking such tender care of him while nursing him through the worst of the migraine, Malcolm wasn’t going to object or question anything. He simply caught Trip’s hand on his stomach, laced their fingers together and brought it to his lips, murmuring his thanks against Trip’s knuckles before releasing his hand. 

“An’ now that we don’t have any more favors to do for the Vulcan High Command,” continued Trip, “we’re back on our way to Risa. We’ll be there ‘fore y’know it. You an’ me are gonna lay out on the beach for a while, take in some sun, get a massage from those Rigelian masseuses, an’ then...who knows what we’ll do. Maybe I’ll j’st keep y’ all to myself, hidden away somewhere.”

“Mm, that all sounds splendid.” Malcolm felt a small smile begin to form, though it wilted slightly as a new thought broke through. “Do you think anyone knows? About us? You told me T’Pol made it a point to mention the anti-fraternization regs the other night at dinner. When she asked…”

“When she asked in her own, ever so polite, damned Vulcan way when the last time I got laid was?” Trip finished Malcolm’s thought for him with a quiet grumble of his own. Huffing, he leaned in closer until his forehead was against the side of Malcolm’s head, lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “I don’t give a damn one way or another if she knows -- or thinks she knows -- about us. An’ I don’t give a damn about the anti-frat regs. We’re gonna be out here  _ five years _ , Malcolm. It’s already been ten months, you honestly think we’re the only ones doin’ what we’re doin’? We’re a long way from home. Spendin’ lots of time in close quarters together. People are gonna develop feelin’s for each other, ranks be damned. An’ I’m not ‘bout to let some pointy-eared alien keep me from what you an’ me got goin’. I wanna see where this goes. That’s why we leave the ranks at the door, right?”

Malcolm’s chest and stomach tightened again, this time in that funny way it did whenever Trip got defensive of their relationship. Swallowing hard, he gave a small nod. “Yes. I suppose…” he trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of his migraine. Malcolm was raised to care about anti-frat regs, about respecting his superior officers but never becoming friends with them, but with Trip it was different. It always had been. Even when Trip would drawl out Malcolm’s rank with a playful smirk when they first started out. Trip very rarely treated Malcolm like a subordinate, and in turn, Malcolm would often forget his place and Trip’s higher rank, and argue with him just as fiercely as he would an equal. Because that’s what they were. Equals.  _ Rank be damned _ , as Trip had said. “I suppose it would be difficult to keep people from developing feelings for each other. Still…”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, not even the cap’n, ‘bout us until you’re ready. I promise.” Trip twirled a damp dark clump of curls around his finger before smoothing it out again and continued stroking through Malcolm’s hair. “I don’t want you worryin’ ‘bout that right now, though. I want you restin’ and lickin’ this migraine of yours so we can keep plannin’ our shore leave together.”

Smiling just a bit more, Malcolm turned his head enough to nudge his nose against Trip’s chin, then once across Trip’s own nose. The pain was beginning to fade, and with it, Malcolm’s energy. The painkillers doing their job to lull him to sleep while they fought against the throbbing beating against his skull. As he drifted off to sleep, it was on the gentle promise made by Trip to stay at his side until Malcolm’s migraine was gone, and with a warmth finally coursing through him that he didn’t want to acknowledge just yet, but was fairly certain it was more than just attraction, affection, and gratitude that Trip was once again caring for him while he was under the weather. Something deeper than that. Something like...


End file.
